Forbidden Whispers and Stolen Moments
by StaticMissi
Summary: This is where I drop the kiddies off at the pool: the one-shot haven. They may or may not string together in any cohesive manner, but there are scenes in my head that don't fit with Our Souls Entwined that MUST be written. MakaXSoul
1. Discovery Recovery

_Author's note: I do not own Soul Eater (obviously) I am absolutely in love with Maka and Soul's non relationship relationship. There is so much angst and hurt and love. This will be a place where I post short one shots that may or may not string together. _

Solid. Immovable. Nimble fingertips traced pink scars, each evoking a painful memory, but one that reinforced his solidarity, his protection like a nuclear fallout shelter. Every once in a while a fingernail grazed skin too, causing goose bumps across skin the color of caramel. Each of those scars seemed to make an intricate pattern, one that was still emerging, but with so many of them, you would think the picture would be painted by now. Some were almost star like in shape, puckers at the edges, and others were long swooping grazes (the reflexes were good enough that these were never that deep) and then there was the one that would never, ever be forgotten. The scar that slashed from Soul's left shoulder, down across his peck, that tapered to an end at his side, replete with tiny puckered indentations, where the biggest, scariest (in her opinion) staples were used to hold the gaping wound shut. He always shivered when she traced that one, part of it still having no feeling and part of it being super sensitive.

Hair the color of straw, but spun of the softest silk tickled neck and cheek, captured between slender digits that were made for caressing song from ivory. More of her hair fanned across his, like straw on snow. Their breath mingled in the silence, minty and vanilla-ish. Splayed limbs tangled, neither dare to make any sudden movements, or break the silence with words, the connection too tenuous, too fragile. Both were afraid that this would end before it started, so they accepted what little affection they could get from the other without pushing it. (Although if they thought about it hard enough, the other would surely acquiesce.)

They could throw anything at her and he'd absorb all of it before it could harm a hair on her head. Although, it gave her a complex. She always felt it was her fault. With each pass over a memory and scar, the guilt weighed heavier. It was suffocating, the overwhelming fact that each was something that she should have prevented. If she were a better scythe master, if she were quicker, more graceful, less analytical and more spontaneous… Each berating she gave herself made the guilt more solidified.

Like this, in recovery, was the only time they let themselves slip and desperation led them to be tender. They were still in denial about their feelings for each other, but somehow it was okay when they were so shaken that they HAD to know that the other was okay. Soul allowed himself to slide his arms around Maka, the look in her eyes breaking his heart. No matter how often he asserted that he was doing his job as her weapon, she still felt like it was her job to protect him. She reflexively stiffened, then immediately melted against his chest. He had to stifle the sigh of relief that threated to leave his lips. This was perfect, this was right. He was also terrified of rejection. What if she didn't feel any more than necessity towards him? How could he live with himself if he broke their connection and all their interactions were awkward?


	2. Maka Worship

_Author's note: This is kind of a rambling in Soul's head about how much he loves Maka. It may be a little OOC for him, but I tried to keep it Soul-like._

"Fat ankles" he tossed at her carelessly, he couldn't help it, seeing that look on her face when he got under her skin was such a turn on. The fire in her eyes, the taught muscles like a panther, ready to spring (okay, well, hit him over the head with a book, but still), it was magical to him.

It reminded him of the glorious avenging angel that he saw on the battlefield, and lucky him, as the weapon he always had a front row seat to her awesome power. She always demurred that he did all the work, being the sharp pointy object of the duo, but the real grace, poise, and well, deadliness- was Maka.

From the day they met he was still in awe of the flawless ease with which she swung him around. Even before he was a death scythe, Soul was not light to carry and he knew it. He had taunted her when they met, this twelve year old gangly girl with pigtails, but he transformed and she caught the taller than her shaft in mid-air and swung him above her head as if he weighed nothing. He was feeling a very familiar stir in his groin just thinking about it. The air had been charged between them, even then.

She never appreciated her own abilities, feeling herself to be an awkward, gawky teen. It was true that she tripped from time to time, but it was usually because her brain was running too fast to get signals to her limbs. He'd never tell her any of this, but having such a deep soul connection with another person taught you things that they might not even know about themselves. He didn't want to think about _that_ too much… Made him feel so uncool!

Feeling her soul resonate with his was the best feeling in the world. Her confidence and drive would fill him and he in turn filled her with his calm and defiance. He seemed like the reckless one of the pair, but Maka was truly reckless when angered. He didn't know how meisters and weapons who didn't love each other did it. He thought about Spirit and Stein and immediately grimaced and pushed that thought away… He didn't want to know what their relationship was or wasn't. Maka was his everything and he was terrified to tell her. She was beautiful, smart, and kind with a hidden wild streak. She was also scary as hell when she was mad. He didn't want to lose her nor ruin their perfect partnership, well, it would be more perfect if he had her between his sheets, but that might get distracting at all other times of the day. He knew that she depended on him, maybe even loved him, but he was certainly it was not the same love he had for her. He pictured her loving him more as a brother or a cousin than as the soulmate that she was to him.


	3. Who's Scythe is it Anyway?

I always knew Maka was amazing. She finished Kishin Asura by herself for shit sake. The day I realized how uncool I really am compared to my Maka is a day I will _never_ forget. We were in a quiet spell, no witches or kishin problems, just taking one day at a time. The gang and I were in the park, at the basketball hoops. I heard "Soul! Catch!" from behind me. I whipped around, unable to keep the smirk from my face at the sound of her voice. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight before me; I turned just in time to watch Maka hurl herself at me, and _transform_ in mid air!

A shiny, double blade scythe was coming in hot and it was all I could do to catch it before I had a blade embedded in my forehead. The shaft was ivory with two long, dark blades that subtly shimmered different colors in the light. It was light as air but held a charged aura around it, just like when Maka was angry.

I gaped at her in the most _uncool_ way ever. Maka's face and bare shoulders reflected in one of the deadly blades. _She was laughing at me_. I pouted, "Watch it, what'r ya tryin to kill me?"

I had known somewhere deep down that Maka was part weapon, after all, her father was a famed death scythe, but with her skill as a meister, I'd forgotten that she had the capacity to transform. She had only done it once to anyone's knowledge and I was too out of it to witness, plus, she did it unconsciously. We didn't know she could do it willfully.

Maka was laughing so hard the shaft in my hands was vibrating. "You should see the look on your face!" She managed between giggles. With that, she transformed back, collapsing against my chest, still shaking with laughter. I was still too stunned to do anything (or realize how uncool I must have looked).

Totally forgetting our audience, I wrapped my arms around her for just a minute, inhaling the scent of her hair. We both stiffened, realizing what was happening, and separated quickly, neither willing to look at the other and the shade of crimson we had become. BlackStar was on the ground dying of laughter, Tsubaki was stiffling giggles behind her hand, and Liz and Patti had collapsed against each other. Kid was too busy being amazed at the symmetry of Maka's blades. I stalked off, my mood totally ruined and my hard on too noticeable to hide.

After that day, I drug Maka to see Lord Death, insisting that she transform for him. He oohed and aahed appropriately, with his usual cartoonish enthusiasm. He clapped those huge gloved hands together and proclaimed, "Soooul, we will train you to wield Maka, that way you are a more effective team!" Maka was so shocked she transfomed back, her hand still clasped tightly in mine. Neither of us realized we should let go.

"Really? I don't know if I'd be any good on the other end of the shaft" I stuttered, not willing to look away from my shoes. Maka tugged on my hand until I looked at her. She nodded solemnly, like this was the most natural thing in the world. The following week, we started practicing, me as the meister and Maka as the scythe.


End file.
